


An Evening At Joel's Happy Place

by jennyjustkidding



Category: I Need Your Love (Song)
Genre: Depression, Detectives, Excessive Drinking, F/M, Heavy Drinking, Implied Sexual Content, Police, References to Addiction, References to Depression, References to Drugs, References to Illness, Sexual Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 22:27:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11389692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennyjustkidding/pseuds/jennyjustkidding
Summary: Mark Carter, a detective in LA, always seemed normal to everyone, including his colleagues. Little did they know what he dealt with everyday.





	An Evening At Joel's Happy Place

**Author's Note:**

> First post after a long time, I hope you guys aren't mad that I haven't visited this page in so long. Though I still got lots of Kudos and I'm very happy that people like that little Anti chapter I wrote :D This chapter here is the result of a writing blast I had two weeks ago or so. It's something different and I did take some name inspiration from a few youtubers here and there will be more I think^^. Id be happy for some comments and tell me if you know them. Update will take its time, I'm that kind of person that will shit out some chapters if i want to. Anyway, school grades are here and summer vacation is in two weeks. I hope I get some stuff done then. See ya later :D <3

"Oh, hey babe."

The Detective had just entered the bar a second ago and was immediately welcomed by the satisfying faint scent of alcohol and by Jazz, one of the many female barkeepers in Joel's Happy Place, an underrated little bar in the middle of town, a least in his opinion.

As the name of the bar already tells the owner's name was Joel, an older but still handsome looking bald guy in his late 60's with a thick grey beard. He established this pub in hope for fulfilling a once deceased dream. And it had been worth it.

Mark always wished that the bar could get more recognition, however, at the same time he wished that the bar would never lose its welcoming and relaxing atmosphere that Mark so dearly loved. Especially after shift he just wanted to be left alone to his thoughts and drink some nice whiskey's.

Just like today.

\------

Jasmine was a small and and curvy woman with a pretty big mouth in relation to her body size. Her blonde wavy hair was always put up in a high ponytail, and her eyeliner seemed a bit overused for Mark's taste.

On the other hand it suited her perfectly.

Her cleavage was pretty much exposed and it did happen very frequently that Jazz would think Mark wasn't controlling his field of view. She didn't seem to mind it however and kindly admonished him when he was accidentally peeking. She already knew that she was like a magnet to men. After all, Mark wasn't the only man to visit the mostly silent bar.

But he was one of those men who weren't interested in her whatsoever. He didn't hit on her, he liked her because of the fact that he could talk to her all night long about absolutely everything. And the two agreed about many things. He was thankful for having a person that could understand the way he thinks.

Mark raised his head to the concise woman that was standing behind the long counter and pushed a white cloth with great casualness into a wet vodka glas and turned it in her hand.

"Hey, Jazz.", Mark said with a rather tired voice and leaned over the counter to give Jazz a kiss on the cheek.

"Job done for today?", she asked with her thick American accent and put the glass in the kitchen sink, taking the next one out of it and stuffing the cloth inside. Mark took a seat in front of Jazz and threw his brown leather bag against the lower part of the counter. With his fingers he went through his hair, silently sighing and then wiping over his weary face.

"Hopefully.", he smiled. He was so goddamn tired. Research for about five hours without a single break and then about four or five difficult and long missions and every single one of them escalated in the worst way possible. It had been an absolute disaster every time. He hated it when plans didn't work out the way he intended them to. At the same time he loved challenges. He loved the way the adrenaline ran through his veins and made him the fighting machine he was. Those were the days he got up for in the morning.

But goddamn, he was exhausted.

"You lookin' hella tired, babe. Don't cha fucking fall asleep on my counter."

"I'll promise I won't. I intend to sleep in my own bed tonight." Jazz moved to the bottle shelf, of course first putting aside the cloth and the glass, and put her hands with the long pink fingernails on her hips.

"Any particular wishes, babe?"

"Somethin' strong. Whiskey or somethin'."

"Everything alright?" Mark lifted his eyebrow.

"Yeah. Just had a hard day. Why'd ya ask?" Jazz pulled out a bottle of high percentage whiskey and carefully inspected it.

"You usually order strong drinks only when ya havin' some personal problems." Mark smiled and folded his hands together.

"I promise I'm not having any problems right now. I'm just tired. And what stops me from getting wasted after all."

"The fact that you're a detective, babe. And tomorrow's the next shift, I suppose. Don't cha need to get up early? You're gonna wake up with the hardest hangover otherwise."

"Nah, I'm good. High alcohol tolerance, remember?" Jazz stepped up to him and let the glass bottle down with a silent shattering noise, let her elbows lean on the counter, her breasts resting on her arms. Mark only stared for a second.

"Eyes up here, babe." Mark lifted his head up and stared the suspiciously looking woman in her blue eyes. She then straightened her arm and pulled on the chain with the small inscription on the little metallic plate around his neck.

"Don't cha dare lie to me, alright?"

"I -I'm not." He sighed. Jazz leaned back and grabbed the whiskey with a fast motion.

"I think you know me too well sometimes."

"You're pretty transparent if you ask me." Mark contemplated for a short second. He usually closed himself up when emotions were starting to overtake his daily behavior. Most of the time it didn't seem to be noticed by the people surrounding him. Neither Kenneth nor Rose, who's too smart for her own good, had given a remark about it today. Jazz, on the other hand ... it's impossible for him to lie to her.

Was it _that_ obvious?

Mark quietly observed the smart lady and how she filled a low glass with the brown colored whiskey. He had to admit he was starting to regret the decision ordering this. She knew him way too good and she knew what he wanted. "Be a good girl and tell me with what you're gonna kill me t'night?" His female friend leaned her back against the counter and chuckled rather excitingly.

"Just some fine ass whiskey. One of the really, REALLY bad ones." Mark held the glass close to his nose and inhaled deeply. His nose felt like it was almost burned off by the strong alcoholic scent.

"Damn. I was only joking when I said "kill"." Carefully he took a small sip and immediately felt the warm feeling spreading in his stomach.

That's what he needed. With the heat he felt the strong desire to smoke a cigarette again. No. He couldn't fall back now. He was clean for a month now and it was clear that it had helped him. It was a hard time but it was worth it. Helped him focus more. But sometimes ... there were these times when he wished he had a cigarette in his hand. Smoking had been the antidote that cured the silence in his lonely life. Mark realized that he never actually had a reason to stop smoking. There's no one he could've done it for.

Maybe for Jazz. But he only encountered her here in Joel's Bar. He wasn't here every single day. Sometimes his mood was so bad that he wouldn't even visit the bar in a week. Sure, Kenneth and Rose were good friends but they were rather colleagues than private friends.

The rest of his family lived in Denver, almost a 16 hour drive away and Mark never liked long drives. And he hated flights. He missed them. But he couldn't go back, not after everything that happened. One day he just left and drove to LA. Without telling anyone. Because they wouldn't understand, they didn't want to understand.

Was is worth leaving them and finding the job he always wanted?

He didn't know. Too much time has passed and almost no answers have been found. He desperately wished for an opportunity to turn back time.

It hadn't appeared until now.

And so he was damned to narcotize his mind with alcohol and nicotine.

Over ...

and over ...

and over again.

Thank god he hadn't touched the hard drugs.

Yet.

He was a Detective. He wasn't allowed to do that. Heck, he shouldn't even drink this often. Did it matter to him? No. He was still the best on the team. No one was even close to matching his case solving rate. The Captain had spoken to him a lot about these things.

How he buries himself in work until midnight and even longer. Because work was the hardest drug he could ever take.

DeFranco doubted Mark's sanity.

Mark himself doubted his sanity. There was no one to keep him sane. Except Jazz. But only to a distinct level.

Eight glasses later he could still feel the pain.

"Babe. You still on earth?" Mark snapped out of his thoughts. Jazz tilted her head, filling a glass with tequila, something a guest had ordered.

"I'm still ... here." His mom-friend leaned forward and grabbed his face with her warm hands. Wrinkles appeared on her forehead.

"You're already wasted."

"Jazz, I'm fine ..."

"Don't fucking lie to me." She let go of him and crossed her tattooed arms.

"You really need to get yourself someone." Mark's head became heavier within the second and he placed it on his arms on the counter.

"What do you mean ...?", he mumbled.

"Oh, I'm pretty sure you know what I mean. Get yourself a pretty girl, Mark."

Silence.

"Get yourself someone that you care about. You won't let yourself down then."

"I'm not letting myself down ..."

"You are." Mark tried opening his eyes but his lids were to heavy.

"I mean, c'mon. You're the dream of every woman, babe. You're a cop, you're muscular as fuck, I mean look at your arms. I bet you've never used those for anythin' different than jerkin' your little friend off."

"Did you have to say that so loud?" Jazz started to lose it.

"Listen, I would've fucked you already."

"Good to know." Mark drank his whole ninth glass.

"Do you know why I didn't?"

"Because you're ten years older than me."

"You know I'd fuck you anyway, idiot."

"I believe that." Jazz laid her hand on her friend's messy hair.

"I didn't because I realized that you needed someone to keep you sane. But you're helpless. Almost completely lost."

"Thanks."

"Oh, Mark."

Jazz left to serve the other guests.

Mark lifted his head. Wow, he really felt like shit right now. Colors started to dance around, his stomach was on fire. Why was living so goddamn hard? And why would a girlfriend help him? She'd just be a burden all day. Mark, do this. Mark, do that. Mark, the dishwasher is broken. Fix it or you won't get dinner for today.

No, thank you.

He looked at the now half filled bottle of whiskey. Why was the fucking pain still here? It didn't matter what he did. The thoughts he tried to drown in alcohol crawled like little parasites his back up and into his brain. And wouldn't leave him alone.

Every single fucking day was a new day of torture. And everyday was the same. Nothing new.

Would people even miss him?

He remembered he still had his gun on his hips. A beautiful little glock. Would the guests mind if he shot himself in the leg? They'd probably call the police.

He chuckled.

He was the fucking police.

What a funny coincidence.


End file.
